


When Life Gives You Lemons

by Fluffifullness



Category: Durarara!!
Genre: Aphrodisiacs, Bondage, Durarara!! Kink Meme, Egg Laying, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Other, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, S&M, Slime, Spanking, Stockholm Syndrome, Tentacle Rape, Tentacles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-22
Updated: 2013-07-22
Packaged: 2017-12-21 00:05:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,083
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/893481
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fluffifullness/pseuds/Fluffifullness
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He's at its mercy. That's the only real logic left here.</p>
            </blockquote>





	When Life Gives You Lemons

**Author's Note:**

> The original prompt is [here](http://drrrkink.livejournal.com/6253.html?thread=24989037#t24989037). Also, please note that the apartment I describe in this fic may not be entirely true to a cheap apartment in Tokyo, Japan. ^^

It’s been a long fucking day – no, a long fucking _week,_ and if it weren’t for Shizuo’s impending weekend off he’d probably have killed something hours ago. It hasn’t stopped raining once in close to ten days, after all, and some pretty legitimate lakes are already starting to form in the soaked corners of his creaking apartment. (Naturally, the cracks are entirely his fault, which means that he can’t even relieve his frustration by taking it out on someone else.) The pavement that comprises the vast jungle of Ikebukuro isn’t a whole lot better, either, and his feet are soaked halfway up his calves by the time he’s made it a third of the way home.

If he felt like making anything close to an effort, he’d probably reach up and count off with his fingers every one of the little burdens that he presently has no choice but to tolerate. Pisses him off, obviously, but to be honest it’s also kinda suffocating. If he could just let the stress go somehow, he’d probably be fine.

(Or at least about as fine as he ever is with his general moodiness and proneness to sudden flights of anger.)

It doesn’t matter because it’s not even likely, but the thought keeps him more or less occupied as home gets closer and closer.

By Shizuo’s estimate, it must be a little after midnight when he finally stumbles out of his shoes and into the slightly greater warmth of that beat-up old apartment. A quick glance up at the clock on his wall – hard to see at first, because for some reason the lights always take a while to brighten sufficiently – verifies that it’s actually around half-past one, a fact that helps explain the near-fatigue that’s pushing through his system alongside several glassfuls of strong drink.

He hates the taste of most stuff with alcohol, of course, but sometimes it’s all he can do to keep himself under control. It was a trip out with Tom, anyway, and it’s really kinda hard to refuse when his boss offers to take him places like that. He doesn’t wanna be rude or anything, so why the hell not –

– but he pads on over to the sink in his little kitchen, anyway, because he’s thirsty besides and wouldn’t mind the chance to wash the taste out of his mouth.

That done, there’s a moment of white silence during which Shizuo only stands dazedly, an empty glass in one hand and the other toying with the edge of his collar. He watches the slow and obscenely regular plummeting of water droplets to the floor on the other side of the room and sighs under his breath. He should probably get around to fixing it or something, but shit like that takes money, and he doesn’t get paid again ‘till Sunday…

“…Later,” he grumbles at no one in particular. The silence around him is almost stifling, but it’s probably at least a little more relaxing than the crush of people day in and out on the streets of ‘Bukuro.

‘Cept… there’s something _up._

Shizuo sets the glass back on the counter behind him without looking, muscles already tensed and ready. He’s listening in earnest, now, and yeah – there’s definitely something, a low buzzing and more than just the slow drip of rain inside and out.

“Oi,” he calls, low and in warning as he takes several steps forward, pauses to listen again and then hurries his way around the corner and down a short hallway.

It’s louder, now – like lots of people whispering, maybe, or a big snake moving through a bunch of grass. Shizuo’s first organized thought is that it might have something to do with Izaya, but there’s no flea smell, and besides – their fight earlier today must have left the bastard with some pretty sizable bruises. Even Izaya’s not stupid enough to show up again this soon.

_Thump!_

That’s the most distinct noise he’s heard so far, and now he turns to face the closed door of his own bedroom. The closeness has him sure that the sound’s coming from there, and in an alcoholically-sponsored moment of rashness he not only shoves the door open but also stumbles far enough inside that his hand cleanly misses the light switch.

And – hang on. He doesn’t remember shutting the door before leaving this morning, and it’s not like there’d’ve been any reason to –

“What –?!”

Something cold and noticeably damp connects with and immediately wraps itself around Shizuo’s wrist before he can turn to flip the lights on. His automatic response is to jerk his hand back, but to his immense surprise he can’t manage to break away. The heel of his right foot connects with something on the floor, then – _no no no, that wasn’t there before_ – and he stumbles back in the direction of the short hallway.

Shizuo braces himself for an impact that never comes. He’s caught in mid-air by _something,_ but he can’t tell what it is until – dazed, drunk and tired and not really scared but definitely confused – he reaches up with his other hand to finally turn the overhead lights on.

“Fuck,” he breathes, because honestly there just aren’t words for this.

He’s staring up at a _blob_ of something, pulsating red and green flesh that somehow manages to remind him of the dinosaur pictures and plastic models he used to see a lot when he was a kid. The way it moves – swaying, lurching off to one side and then recoiling from the sudden realization of light – is way too organically-living-and-totally-unidentified-creature for comfort. Forget the lakes in the other rooms of Shizuo’s apartment; this thing’s oozing a fucking _ocean._

That’s Shizuo’s first impression of the thing, but for all that it’s so shocking the moment is only a fleeting one. It’s promptly cut short by a heavy moaning sound – like a whale, Shizuo thinks with a bizarre sensation of near-fascination – and then he feels the floor begin to slip steadily farther and farther away from his sprawled-out form.

He hasn’t given much thought to fight or flight just yet – why bother, after all, when his strength easily trumps just about every threat he’s likely to run into? – but his first glimpse at a whole slew of twisting, writhing tentacles –

– tentacles…

…tentacles –

– changes his mind pretty fast.

Unfortunately, his initial – wide-eyed, cotton-mouthed and _what-the-fuck_ – attempt at freeing himself in midair gets him nowhere. He allows himself another startled glance about –

 – and with that realizes that it’s not just his one wrist, now, but every one of his limbs diligently bound by the very tentacles he’s trying to get away from.

Okay – so it’s strong, kind of, but Shizuo hasn’t applied himself all that seriously to the task just yet – and he does so presently, of course, throws every last ounce of drunken frustration into the chords of his muscles before using his own weight and the pull of the tentacles as leverage for another long struggle. He’s familiar enough with off-the-beaten-path porn to know where scenes like this usually tend to go, and damned if he’s going to let this one end like _that_.

Not that that’s going to be a legitimate problem, anyway, the blonde quickly reassures himself. If anything, the creature’s probably looking for a midnight snack, and besides – Shizuo’s got to be more than capable of giving this thing a run for its money.

Much to his uncomprehending horror, though, the tentacles easily stay locked in place, and in the next second a fifth one winds its way up to dangle almost tauntingly right before his eyes. Shizuo starts to say something – a threat, a dare, he’s not even sure what – but finds that his breath is coming too fast to allow for speech.

He’s struggling _hard,_ after all, and yet still the most he’s managed is probably less than an inch of give where his right leg is bound by a noticeably thinner tentacle.

He wonders mid-action what the hell this thing’s made of – plays with the possibility that it’s actually a robot, an alcoholic hallucination, a plastic model dinosaur come to life or maybe just a real one in the flesh – as something close to panic starts to accumulate in the pit of his stomach. He’s awake. He’s not dreaming and he’s in his own bedroom – but the bed, he realizes, is close to a meter directly below him and the only thing keeping him suspended like this is a bunch of tentacles and they’re _actually_ beating him, Heiwajima Shizuo, in terms of raw strength.

“It’s fucking _real,”_ Shizuo rasps in between hasty lungfuls of  humid air, and his incredulous grin actually survives the initial shock of that fifth tentacle shooting past his open lips to fill his mouth and throat.

He chokes, feels bile rise halfway up to meet the tentacle and immediately has to swallow it back down. He tries twisting his head from one side to the other, but that only seems to encourage the creature. It makes another moaning sound, but it’s higher this time – almost amused, but goddammit this just _isn’t funny_ anymore – and the tentacle inches farther forward just as it starts to thicken strangely at the base.

Shizuo doesn’t even have to wonder what that’s about, because in a matter of less than a second the bulge speeds its unhesitating way up and into his waiting orifice. It’s carrying liquid – hot, thick and Shizuo tries to reject it somehow but in the interest of breathing he has no choice but to take it with a new wave of bile. His stomach feels suddenly full, warm and –

– and that’s not the only thing getting warmer. His cock is starting to come to life, too, and he’s sure without looking that he must be starting to show a bulge of his own already.

He shudders. _The fuck’s wrong with me –_

His thoughts grind to a halt as the warmth turns to a heat and the heat to a fever. His face and chest feel like they’re buzzing, now, too, and when the monster pulls his legs wide open he actually moans low and in the back of his throat – wanting more, wanting –

– no, he has to escape, he can’t let this go on, no no _no –_

The creature’s very methodical. It honestly seems to anticipate Shizuo’s cheeks-flushed-hips-straining reaction to the spurt of alien goo, and of course its next step involves a light tugging at the clasp of his pants. Shizuo can’t see it, of course, but he can feel it and he knows instinctively that the monster is sufficiently preoccupied to have relaxed maybe just enough...

That’s why he throws himself into another escape effort as a final ‘no’ grinds its way out of his desperate train of thought and into a muffled vocalization. His thrashing about resumes with extra force, and as he feels one hand break free he immediately sets about trying to remove the tentacle from his throbbing mouth.

It doesn’t work. The thing catches his moving arm with two or three fresh tentacles, and the one in his mouth readily releases another spurt of stinging liquid.

His pants and boxers disappear almost without him knowing it. His cock throbs and jerks in response to the fresh shock of cold air, and a reluctant shiver runs up his spine. His inner thighs are just slightly damp – precum, he thinks as his stomach churns with disgust and a hint of fear.

Several much thinner tentacles snake their way over to his wrists and then on down the sleeves of his still-buttoned-up shirt. Shizuo thrashes uselessly about, but as always he fails to make any progress. He’s not even surprised when the tentacles graze the sensitive pink of his bare nipples; hell, he’s only slightly caught off guard by the monster’s decision to simultaneously introduce another of its appendages to Shizuo’s swollen dick. The result is a makeshift cock-ring, and it comes not a moment too soon to prevent him from coming in desperate jets all over himself.

That’s obviously not a good thing, but the blunt friction of slimy monster tentacles on Shizuo’s chest kinda _is._ He admits that much to himself without quite the same reluctance he’s thus far clung to, but the sight of those things moving against the tight fabric of his shirt is still downright creepy. They’re straining at the fabric, pushing one or two buttons loose and as the pace becomes something incredible the whole thing bursts open to expose every shuddering inch of his chest to the familiar cool of his drafty bedroom.

His cock spasms painfully, but the organically-composed ring does its job just as well as it’s obviously intended to. Shizuo gurgles into the thing in his mouth and resumes for the umpteenth time his panicked struggling. He’s using all of his strength, practically suffocating and his nipples are already hard and painfully sensitive when the touch slows and then stops.

Shizuo dares for a moment to think that the monster’s actually finished with him, but the motionlessness is short-lived. He’s startled by the sudden return of worm-like wetness to his lower back and just _fuck –_ that _can’t_ be good.

The fine tip of that tentacle moves with a maddening slowness down the remainder of his back and to the top of his ass. It stops there, again, and Shizuo stubbornly tenses the muscles of his cheeks in preparation for what he knows is coming.

When the muscle-bound digit begins to squeeze – or at least to _attempt_ to squeeze – its way straight down the middle of Shizuo’s ass, the monster to which it belongs produces a remarkably displeased groaning noise. Shizuo – still straining desperately at his bonds, breathing up a storm and struggling to catch a glimpse of what’s actually going on down there – celebrates that small victory in relative silence. The tentacle in his mouth is, after all, busy filling him with a third load of what can only be some kind of sex drug – _aphro-_ whatever-it’s-called... His stomach feels _more_ than full, now – actually painful, slightly swollen as though he’s just taken three meals at once and he’s starting to worry that he’ll need to piss soon, too.

Piss or vomit. Whatever works.

He doesn’t exactly have the leisure to mull that over in his mind – as if he’d really want to – but the monster’s next move feels like another interruption all the same.

Two more tentacles wind their way up to either cheek of Shizuo’s prone ass. These ones are different, though, as they’re obviously thicker – he can tell despite the fact that they are well beyond his range of vision – and adorned with what feel like an octopus’s suction cups. Regardless of whether that’s what they actually are, though, they’re sticky enough to part Shizuo as easily as if he weren’t even thinking of struggling. He’s spread wide, exposed and humiliated and none of his strength is doing anything to make it better.

“Fuck,” he tries to hiss, and there’s the warning nudge at the ring of muscles guarding his hole, the tiniest dipping-in of the first tentacle’s tip and his hips jolt painfully upward as the suspense cycles back into arousal. It’s going to take him, it’s going to explore every inch of him until there’s nothing but fire and dampness and want…

The creature squeals… or – or _something –_ in response to this. It’s curious, and to satisfy that curiosity it eagerly proceeds inch by horrifying inch until Shizuo’s seeing stars and a thick stream of ooze is squelching unevenly out of his hole – escaping around the tentacle as it continues to creep forward and the not-quite-liquid runs lewdly down the blonde’s inner thighs.

That’s _one_ tentacle. It gets progressively thicker the farther in it goes, but it’s still nothing in the face of a second one pushing its way inside.

A third.

And then they begin to move away from each other – pushing outward, stretching Shizuo wide as his legs are drawn even wider. He’s being pulled apart, torn at the seams, split down the middle. It’s like nothing he’s ever felt before – agony and he almost dares to want more of it.

More is what he gets, of course, and he doesn’t even have to ask. A fourth tentacle stuffs its way into the roiling midst of Shizuo’s ass, striking his prostate dead-on so that the world goes immediately white and Shizuo’s cock jerks and throbs for unattainable release.

He’s so _close…_

Shizuo mewls into the obstacle in his mouth – earns himself another helping of sex slime, too – and it _hurts_ and his nipples are being subjected to the same treatment again and his heart is hammering in his chest. He can’t handle feeling like he seriously belongs to this thing, but the sensation of total fullness is so incredible on its own that subservience rules his mind.

It owns him. The tentacles own him.

He keeps fighting, but his strength is going.

Without warning, his breath catches in his throat and he clenches the muscles of his ass fractionally harder without exactly meaning to. That doesn’t accomplish much, of course, but it has a whole new wave of goop streaming out of his hole and onto the bed below him. His legs are completely soaked, too, and the tentacles in his ass are more than entertained by the additional moment of control lost.

The monster knows. It understands. It angles one tentacle just right.

Slams it into the dead center of Shizuo’s prostate.

Doesn’t give him a chance to catch his failing breath before a second does the same thing.

Oh, god – he’s really gonna die if this goes on.

“Please,” he tries to beg, but as the pattern continues – steady and unbroken stream like some kind of hurricane – he forgets how to move forward with words. He forgets that it hurts. He forgets to fight.

He forgets _everything._

In. Out. Twist about inside, graze and nudge at Shizuo’s walls, whatever it wants – it’s exploring every obscene little inch of his insides, and worse than that is the fun it’s having with his jerking, thrashing, moaning mess of a self. His sweet spot may as well be the button on those obnoxious toys – the ones with the ‘try me’ stickers that drag word and song from the depths of the things as easily as if they _as if he were being turned inside out…_

The tentacle-ring disappears after what feels like long hours of on-the-edge pain and arousal, and maybe it’s pathetic but the force of Shizuo’s immediate orgasm knocks him clean into a blurry sort of unconsciousness.

 

~*~

 

The only light assaulting Shizuo’s vision when he comes to is the dim orange of his own overhead lamp. The sun’s not up, which means that he can’t have been out for too many hours…

“Oh,” he gasps, realizing just a bit late that at least one of the tentacles has vanished from his body. His mouth is unblocked, and so of _course_ he takes immediate advantage by dragging brutal lungfuls of air into his aching chest. His arms and legs feel like noodles. It’s just another alien sensation to him, because in the past nothing’s ever existed that could draw out and effectively waste every ounce of energy in his body.

He’s… actually defenseless.

And, yeah – there are still four tentacles lodged in his ass, although at the very least the suction-cup things have disappeared from his throbbing cheeks. He doesn’t have to see to know that there are going to be some really weird marks there for a while – a sign of ownership, he dares to muse before an unreasoning rage bubbles up to wring movement out of him.

He shifts his weight, testing to see if maybe the creature beneath him isn’t awake to hold him in place.

No such luck. Of-fucking-course. Actually, the slight flexing of his muscles quickly has the opposite effect of bringing the thing fully back to life. The sound it makes right off the bat isn’t exactly reassuring, but Shizuo’s in no shape to go labeling it with words that are meant to describe human emotion.

It just… doesn’t sound _happy._

His worst fears are confirmed the moment the appendages holding his limbs down force him to literally roll over. Up until this moment, he’s mostly been staring dizzily up at the ceiling; now, he’s staring down at the bed as his mind races to come up with something like a prediction.

He’s completely hard, of course, but that should really go without saying at this point. The only question in Shizuo’s mind is what’s going to have him coming undone all over again. What kind of permanent damage it may or may not leave him with. How much it’s gonna hurt.

It does – hurt, that it is. Actually, hurt seems to be the entire point.

Another tentacle, this one less familiar than the others and therefore probably new – and he’s doing his best not to freak out over just how many this thing has or the fact that he can actually _recognize_ them already – rises and is held far above and slightly behind Shizuo. That’s the only reason he can make it out, actually, and even then his neck is ready to cramp up as he turns it as far to one side as he possibly can.

He has to know what to expect!

The thing comes slamming down against Shizuo’s exposed bottom so suddenly that a sharp cry escapes his throat even before it’s made contact with bare skin.

He completely fails to see it coming.

The sound alone is bad enough as it is. This tentacle’s not nearly as slime-soaked as the others, but it’s slick enough to produce a wet sucking sound as it hits him. It’s like a cross between the slap of boots on rain-wet pavement and fat lips working at a thing of cup ramen. It’s indescribably lewd and that coupled with the sheer humiliation has Shizuo’s anger levels pushing every limit he’s ever known.

If he didn’t feel so helpless in addition to that, he’d be screaming curses and seeing red.

Is it pissed at him for falling asleep? Mad that he still has the nerve to fight back?

Or is this something completely different – affectionate, even?

 _...foreplay?_ he wonders incredulously. He obviously can’t verify it, but – ah, hell, if that’s what it is then he’s really lucky to be alive even this far into their little game of cat and caught mouse.

The sensation itself is significantly more violent than its music. It shakes Shizuo’s entire frame once and then another time while he bites back whimpers and tugs uselessly at his bonds. He has to let his head hang – can’t find the strength to hold it upright unless he’s in the middle of withstanding another blow – and tears sting at the corners of his eyes.

He can’t believe that he’s crying. He can’t believe that he’s stuck like this. He can’t believe that this is happening.

He can’t believe how much his body is enjoying the treatment, either, but there it is.

Maybe he’s just too honest, or maybe his threshold for stuff like this’s just too low. Every resounding impact throws another wave of tight heat into the bloated center of his body. His cock jumps and he moans in between pained grunts and whimpers. He’s really close to a shuddering climax, and if the creature somehow decided to stop now he’d probably do everything in his power to drag something like movement from the tentacles still buried in his anal tract.

He needs it _– everything –_ and another reflexive escape attempt is born of that because it’s just too wrong to be okay.

The monster doesn’t like _that,_ apparently. Seconds later, the things in his ass and the tentacles waiting by his nipples are hard at work on him and he’s squirming about beneath them like a fucking puppy – whining and grunting and moaning and thrusting himself shamelessly into every touch as his body enters autopilot. He’s still being relentlessly spanked, too, and even then it’s not enough, it’s never enough – “M-more – more – mmmghaaahhh –”

Yeah, it’s not long before every useless thing he tries to communicate becomes nothing more than unintelligible noise.

His new face-down position lets him watch as his (painfully untouched) cock finally spasms and releases a long stream of hot cum into empty air. He’s dripping sweat, totally limp except for the lingering tensing-and-relaxing pattern of near-painful orgasm. More of the monster’s thick liquid slips past his hole to freshly soak his already-sticky legs, but even then he finds himself almost hoping for more.

More filth. More pleasure.

The thing holds him up like that – exhausted, slack-jawed and buzzing with all that remains of the mouth-tentacle’s sex drug – and even as he weakly tries to retrieve his arms he knows that it’s far too late for him now.

He’s just going through the motions.

Even so, he doesn’t bother struggling when another tentacle winds its way into his slightly-open mouth. It lunges past his teeth and he opens wide to let it in. Feels like his jaw’s coming unhinged, but that’s fine. He almost wants the mind-numbing quality of the stuff that it’s definitely going to make him drink – and drink it he does, every drop and he goes as far as to lick at the end of the tentacle where it’s decided to stop at stuffing just his mouth.

It quickly becomes obvious that there’s no more coming, so he starts to suck hungrily at the thing like a fucking _baby_ as his cheeks flush with mortification. He doesn’t feel like making any apologies to himself, but he knows damn well just how pathetic this is. It’s just that his body’s so _hot_ and the rational corner of his mind is screaming at him and he just wants it to _shut up_ because he doesn’t have any options.

He’s at its mercy. _That’s_ the only real logic left here.

The creature doesn’t help anything, either, ‘cause it actually _coos_ at him and rewards his awful obedience with another load of slime. Shizuo swallows it all down and feels his stomach stretch even more incredibly than it had before. He wonders again whether he’s going to have to throw some of it back up, but he tells himself that he can handle it. He’s already feeling the effects of the high – it’s worth it.

Every inch of his body is drawn into a long spasm of shocked arousal.

The tentacles are leaving his hole one by one, now, and if the loss doesn’t strike him as entirely tragic it’s at least enough to warrant a soft mewling from somewhere near the back of his throat. He’s already – or _still,_ maybe – sporting an unbelievable erection, and the friction of the sliding motion balances out to painfully little stimulation.

He’s nowhere close to his third release, but _fuck_ does he want it.

He gets it – or something, anyway, as the thing lowers him onto the bed far below. Additional tentacles force his front end down – arms folded beneath his chest and he tries to ignore the obvious dampness of his sheets – while his bottom remains angled upward.

(Like some pretty display, ass screaming for attention and he even wriggles it around a bit to convey his readiness to what he could almost call his master. The position’s not just compromising – it’s downright humiliating. He’d never be caught dead like this by anyone else, but here he’s the only one available to judge.

So fuck it. Fuck pride. He’s not going to deny what his crazed body and mind so desperately want.)

The mouth-tentacle leaves him again, and at this point there’s nothing more obvious than the creature’s intentions; he’s going to be filled again, but with what he hardly knows. His face is mere centimeters from the wrinkled surface of his bed, and no matter how he turns his head he can’t make out anything beyond that expanse of white.

Blind – _great._

What eventually slides its way into Shizuo’s gaping hole is _huge._ It must be, because if it can still hurt as much as it does – stretching him impossibly wider, twisting about and painting his walls with a fresh coat of slime – after no less than four other tentacles, there’s something wrong.

It only gets wronger, but of course that’s how this entire encounter’s been going from the start.

He doesn’t even know that the thing in his ass is growing until the bulge – comparable to the one that so often enters his intestinal tract from the other end – makes it to the ring of muscles. It pushes its way past and he tries to block it because _no, there’s just not enough room there, not for that_ and it hurts more than anything so far has but as it continues to wind its way up all Shizuo can do is arch his back with a short, muffled cry.

He can’t deny that it feels good.

The thing – round, he decides, like a good-sized ball of some sort – keeps going until it reaches what his sleep-deprived-high-on-slime-and-alcohol mind can only conclude is one of his intestines. That’s where it stops, but no sooner has it done so than a second bulge pushes past Shizuo’s hole and into his anus.

This one manages to inadvertently brush his prostate, and only then – in a moment of white and blood pulsing through his writhing body – does it occur to him that the bulges might actually be this monster’s enormous eggs.

Damn – isn’t that just fuckin’ _classic?_

So maybe it feels good, maybe he’s too drained to get away and maybe he’s an idiot for having let it go this far to begin with, but he’s _not_ about to let an unidentified tentacle monster dinosaur _thing_ make babies in _his_ ass. His aroused cries turn panicked, his weak thrusts and shivers for more now a desperate series of flailings and missing blows. It’ll either get him killed or get him out, and if he can somehow manage the latter he’ll be sure to finish himself by more conventional means.

This – this is the true last-ditch effort.

The monster’s scream then is almost enough to stop Shizuo’s heart beating in his chest. The thing’s offspring are being threatened, after all, the purpose of its ministrations annoyingly thwarted and this squirming thing in its clutches is entirely responsible. Shizuo doesn’t give a fuck, obviously, but when his swinging pendulum of an erection finds itself wrapped up in another makeshift cock ring plus one very strong-seeming tentacle, he thinks that maybe he’s about to regret attempting the impossible.

Revenge is a bitch, and so is Shizuo. His rebellion is seconds long, but the change it brings about is chillingly dramatic.

He’s held suddenly and completely on all sides by tentacles, pulsating and dripping and clinging to him as his hands tangle in the sheets directly in front of him. The eggs keep coming, but they’re slowed by the additional tentacle that’s making a point of slamming very directly into his sore prostate. Every thrust is accompanied by an additional tightening of the larger appendage encasing his cock – powerful squeezes that’d milk him like a cow if it weren’t for the ring keeping an incredibly intense orgasm at bay.

The tentacles gripping his shuddering body also make a point of dragging him back onto every renewed thrust. That alone is enough to increase the intensity ten-fold, and never mind how impossible it renders resistance. He even begins to fear that the thing’ll punch straight through his prostate, impaling him like a stuck pig –

“Aaah,” he breathes. Oh, god…

His nipples are mercilessly stimulated by a pair of tentacles that wrap themselves all the way around him – past his tensing shoulder blades and beneath the sharp angles of his underarms – to achieve better access; they’re twisting at him, scraping the skin and generating enough friction to start at least ten fires.

Shizuo is unraveled just like that. His resolve fails him even before his strength does, and he’s left to moan and sob and curse as his world is reduced to the most basic of physical sensations.

He can’t even _move._

He discovers near-thousands of favorite spots and sensations only to forget them again as he’s swept away by current upon fresh current of mindless want. He learns and unlearns, bends and almost breaks and physically loves every second of it.

He lets himself lose his mind.

He doesn’t even notice how bloated his stomach’s become until he’s staring anxiously down at what looks like the body of a pregnant woman – minus the raging erection and mostly-flat chest, of course, and the ring doesn’t leave him even after everything else has gone. He’s desperate and in tears and he doesn’t even care that he’s holding at least a dozen monster eggs inside of him; he just thrusts blindly into empty air until the tentacles tighten to hold him still on the bed.

 _No no no no no –_ “Fuck,” he moans. He can’t believe how badly he wants every one of the touches that he’s now lacking, but more painful than all of it is the single loss of the tentacle in his ass. It leaves him with a small _pop_ as the ring of muscles has to stretch to let it go, and in the void he finds himself screaming at it to return.

Flat on his back, he’s completely immobile and more pathetic than ever. His mind is nothing more than a long monologue of _fuck me fuck me fuck me_ but he’s a vessel and nothing more. For the creature that’s been having its way with him now for some unknown (but definitely extended) period of time, there’s no point in continuing as long as Shizuo’s there to keep its kids safe and warm.

He tries everything – mangles apologies and bargains that surely would have gone uncomprehended even had he been in the right mind to speak; attempts to get at least one of the eggs out of his ass and onto the bed; mewls and makes faces that he can only hope communicate something. Licks and sucks and nips at the tentacle in his mouth in an attempt to coax more of that nectar from it – and to his surprise, that finally works.

Sort of.

Something does come out, but it’s thinner and its smell is sweeter than what Shizuo’s become accustomed to. He accepts it as eagerly as ever despite that, but the relief the stuff grants him is nothing next to his insatiable appetite.

 _Food,_ he realizes with a brand of anger that is eight parts desperation and two parts disbelief. Food for the things growing even now in the body that was supposed to’ve been purely _his._ That must be what it is, and now he’s practically being told that his sexuality is nothing more than a tool and a toy.

With its usefulness extinguished, his new role is wholly obvious.

Time passes. What once felt good slowly begins to hurt as what could’ve been a quick finish is drawn out and out and out.

He’s going to die he’s going to die he’s going to _die if he doesn’t get what he needs right now right now –_

He’s pathetic, but maybe he’s lucky for that. He’s enough of a whimpering mess to pity himself already, but it just figures that this not-human-at-all _thing_ seems suddenly capable of the very same emotion. It just figures that Shizuo – constantly accused by Izaya, a flea himself, of being less than human – can read that feeling in the shifting of numerous, faceless tentacles when he can’t even begin to understand other people like himself.

It just figures that when the monster finally lays into him again – not a moment or a second too soon, and his orgasm is as instant as the mere introduction of his cock-ring tentacle to the chock-full womb that is his anus – he knows beyond any doubt that this is it.

This is a good thing.

He doesn’t mind – no, he actually looks forward to it, to the coming day of nothing but this and him and the eggs and the tentacles and who really gives a damn what happens after that.

“Thanks,” he whispers, voice velvet and vividly content to be here and now just like this.

_When life gives you lemons…_

_…make lemonade…_

He laughs. It’s true, so true…


End file.
